The Way You Look, The Way You Act
by Caitlin M
Summary: Title subject to change without notice. Yamcha finally gets fed up with the way Bulma treats him, but will he find someone new? Will Bulma suceed in winning him back? Will Vegeta get mixed up in this somehow? Who knows! I certainly don't. Chapter 5 now up
1. Crazy for Bein' so Lonely

a./n.: In every B/V I've ever read, Bulma has dumped Yamcha. Whether they parted on good terms or not, she was the one that pushed him away, and he was the one that begged to stay (hey, that rhymed!). Well, what if it was the other way around? Yamcha finds happiness, and Bulma is trying to scheme her way back into his life. Will she break up the new couple? Will Vegeta get mixed up in this somehow? Who knows! I sure don't. I have a feeling I'm going to get some flames for this, which is good in a strange way. If I do get one, it will be my first flame! Yay! Anyway, read. Unless you hate Yamcha.  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned DBZ.hmm.I'd put Dragoness Eclectic, Ash the Wanderer, and Jessibelle67 in charge of writing it. Since I don't, I present you with this humble fic instead.  
  
Chapter One: Crazy for Bein' so Lonely  
  
Yamcha sat in his favorite post-breakup haunt and stared ruefully into his beer. He really shouldn't be here. He should be training, like Vegeta and undoubtedly everyone else, but Bulma had dumped him. Again. He knew that if he tried to train now, every move would bring a picture of her, shouting at him, "I hate you!! I never want to see you again!!"  
  
He wondered idly what had caused the blowup this time. All women were strange, alien creatures as far as he was concerned, but Bulma was sometimes as mysterious and distant as another universe. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything. He had been spending all his time lately either training at Capsule Corp. or playing baseball with his team. Maybe he hadn't been spending enough time with her? But she knew the androids were coming in three years! Well, two and a half now. Yamcha sighed, shook his head, and took another swig of his drink. Women. You couldn't understand them, you couldn't live with them, and when they dumped you it felt like the world had ended. Not that he had much experience of women, outside of Bulma, since he had been 'going steady' with her since the tender age of sixteen. He was no longer shy to the point of freezing around other girls, but he was still far from smooth. He tended to blush, stammer, and generally act like an awkward, clumsy teenager. And it didn't really feel like the world had ended. Not anymore. He had been through this routine too many times.  
  
"Hi. Mind if I sit here? The other tables are full." Yamcha looked up into chocolate-brown eyes in a very pretty face, framed by equally chocolate-brown hair. Uh-oh. Here it came. He felt his cheeks turning an embarrassing shade of red and ducked his head.  
  
"S-sure. Sit down." God, he sounded like an idiot. Why couldn't he ever relax around girls? It wasn't as if she had even done anything! Just a simple request to sit down at his uncrowded table, and all the old reflexes kicked in. At least he hadn't fallen over or stiffened up yet. All those years with Bulma had done him that much good, at least.  
  
She had noticed his reaction. "What's the matter? I don't bite, you know."  
  
"Y-yeah, it's just." He was as red as a beet, he could feel it. "I get really.um. nervous around girls. Ever since I was a teenager."  
  
"Oh, I see. I'm Cesily, by the way."  
  
"Y-yamcha." He tried to force himself to stop blushing, but it wasn't working. He ducked his head again.  
  
"Hey." she cocked her head at him, "Aren't you that famous baseball player?"  
  
"Y-yeah, that's me." Idiot, idiot, idiot! He sounded so stupid!  
  
"I don't watch that many sports, but everyone's heard of you. Aren't you going out with Bulma Briefs? You know, the owner of Capsule Corp.?"  
  
Depression temporarily enabled him to overcome his shyness. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I was, but she dumped me. Again." Oops, shouldn't have added that last part. Now she'd get curious. Oh well, he didn't really care at this point. Maybe it would be a relief to talk out his problem with someone.  
  
Sure enough, she wanted to know more. "What do you mean, again? You've dated her before?"  
  
He snorted bitterly. "I've been dating her since I was sixteen, on and off. Sometimes I think she thinks she's 'just settled' for me, and that she could do better. But she always takes me back, and I just come when she calls. Like a dog." He took another drink as his black mood settled back over him and dispelled his natural temerity.  
  
Cesily looked puzzled. "Why do you go back? I mean, a guy as handsome and well-known as you should have girls falling all over him!"  
  
"That's just it. If a girl ever fell on me, I'd probably take off screaming for the hills and become a bandit, like I was before I met Bulma. I'm just too damn shy to get another girlfriend!"  
  
"You don't seem that shy to me. Well, you did before, but not now."  
  
Yamcha thought about saying something complimentary before his unusual boldness evaporated, but decided that honesty was the best policy. "That's because right now, I'm too depressed to be shy."  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry."  
  
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the music and thinking their own thoughts. Yamcha wondered what had possessed him to reveal so much to this total stranger, a woman (a very pretty woman. Yamcha hoped he wasn't starting to blush again) who had just happened to sit at his table in a bar. Sighing, he took another drink. The band struck up a new song. At last, Cesily broke the silence.  
  
"If you're normally so shy, how did you meet Bulma?"  
  
Yamcha shrugged. This was one story he definitely wasn't going to tell (at least, not in detail) to a stranger in a bar, no matter how depressed he was. "Long story short, I tried to rob the two guys she was with before I noticed they had a girl with them, Pu'ar had to rescue me, I followed them."  
  
"Who's Pu'ar?" Cesily injected.  
  
"One of my best friends. She's a shapeshifter."  
  
"What about your girl phobia?"  
  
Yamcha grinned. "In her natural form, she's a cat. No go. Anyway, I followed them, blah, blah, a lot of stuff happened, and eventually we decided to become girlfriend and boyfriend. We've been going steady since then, but the past few years have been pretty rocky. I don't know how much more I can, or should, take." Hmm, he noticed thoughtfully, his shyness seemed to have gone out the window, but he wasn't all that depressed anymore. What had happened?  
  
Cesily nodded thoughtfully, choosing to ignore the fact that he hadn't really answered her question about the girl phobia. "I see. Sounds to me like you need a new girlfriend." Suddenly realizing what the last comment could be taken to mean, she shot a look at Yamcha. To her relief, the thought didn't seem to have crossed his mind.  
  
"Yeah, you're probably right, but I doubt the particular circumstances that got Bulma and I together are ever going to turn up again." Definitely not, he added to himself. His life had gotten a lot stranger since then. In fact, that period had been the closest to 'normal' he'd been for a long time.  
  
"Whatever you say," Cesily said, a bit skeptically, but she chose not to press the subject. The two sat in silence again, that rare, companionable silence that doesn't beg to be filled up with talk. Cesily snuck glances at Yamcha, who was watching the country-western band perform on the bar's small stage. He was handsome, she admitted critically, even with those scars. He seemed likeable enough, once he got over his shy self- consciousness, but she could see how it would be hard for him to get a girl. For one thing, he didn't seem likely to ever muster up enough courage to try. She surveyed him with the look usually reserved for a particularly knotty math problem. Should she do something? If she was going to do something, then what?  
  
Meanwhile, Yamcha sat and pretended he couldn't tell she was looking at him. A part of him was amazed. He had managed to talk to a girl, she apparently didn't think he was an idiot (yet), and she was still there! This was an occurrence unprecedented in all of Yamcha's previous experience, except for his dates with Bulma. And even then, he couldn't always rely on her to be there by the end of the night. It was ironic, really, he mused. The only times he seemed able to muster up enough courage to talk to girls were when he was with Bulma, but at such times he couldn't talk to girls because he was with his girlfriend! He sighed. Life was really unfair. Well, he was talking to a girl now. Or at least, he had been talking to her. At this point he couldn't resist glancing at her, and she hastily tried to pretend she hadn't been watching him. Cesily was pretty, she was nice, and she seemed smart. Nowhere around Bulma's level, of course, but to tell the truth Yamcha had always found the blue-haired genius's formidable intellect to be somewhat intimidating. So.Yamcha gulped as his brain took the bit in its metaphorical teeth and plunged onward towards the obvious thought.he liked Cesily. So far, he liked her a lot. He was (at this point) officially broken up with Bulma, and this left him at loose ends as far as time between training and baseball went. Not that he considered a girlfriend as just something to fill up his spare time, but.well, maybe.he really shouldn't, with the androids coming in three years and all, but.well, he did like her. He was blushing again, he could feel it. He had better seize his chance now, before embarrassment had a chance to tie his tongue up in knots again..  
  
"Do you." he began. She looked at him, and he nearly lost it, but plunged bravely onward. "Well, I, y'know, kinda like this song, and, well, um.. doyouwanttodance?"  
  
Cesily swallowed a sudden lump in her throat (nervous, her? Nah.) and managed to answer teasingly. "Aren't you recovering from that breakup awfully fast?"  
  
Yamcha gulped. "Um." Was he? It didn't feel that way.definitely not like he'd just broken up (again) with the love of his life. He filed that thought away for future consideration, and replied uncertainly. "No? I've never really done this before." Blushblushblush. God, he had to stop doing that!  
  
Cesily was giving him a look that reminded him of himself, back in his bandit days, trying to decide if it was really worth it to rob that caravan. Finally, after the longest few seconds of Yamcha's life, she replied.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Okay?" By now he was so nervous that he had all but forgotten the question. She grinned at him, rather impishly.  
  
"Okay, I'll dance with you."  
  
* * *  
  
Slow-dance. Yamcha's natural coordination and grace (not to mention superhuman strength) helped him hold his own even in the most hectic mosh pit, but slow-dancing was another matter entirely. The feel of Cesily's body (Cesily's very feminine body) pressed up against his was nice, but also very frightening. What if he messed up? What if he stepped on her foot? Maybe this had been a bad idea.  
  
"Just relax," Cesily whispered into his ear. "Jeez, I don't bite or anything. You're as tight as a coiled spring!"  
  
"Sorry," Yamcha whispered back. "I'm just."  
  
"Nervous?" Cesily grinned up at him, then ducked her head and continued a little shyly. "Me too. Just a little." Embarrassed, she glanced up at him, sidelong, to find that he was gazing at her in near-wonder.  
  
"Really?" he asked, sounding amazed.  
  
"Well, yes. I mean, you're a very attractive guy, you know."  
  
"Th-thanks. Y-you're.um, you're really pretty. I mean that."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
The pair swayed together on the dance floor, relaxing in each other's arms. Nope, Yamcha thought, inhaling the scent of Cesily's shampoo with a sigh. This had definitely not been a bad idea. It was possibly a very good idea. Maybe even one of the best ones he'd made in his life so far, not that it had to be incredibly good to rank high on that list. He came back to reality with a start as Cesily slapped his arm lightly.  
  
"You're brooding again. Stop it. Besides, the song's almost over."  
  
He blinked, then smiled at her. Gathering his courage, he said (almost evenly), "There's another one starting, though. D'you wanna.?" He raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
"Sure," Cesily said, smiling suddenly and brilliantly up at him. "I'd like that."  
  
Willing himself not to blush (it wasn't working) Yamcha led his partner back out onto the dance floor as the band began another song.  
  
* * *  
  
They walked outside together, Yamcha courteously holding the door for his dancing partner as she stepped through. They stood for a moment, silent as they breathed the night air, until Cesily spoke up.  
  
"I had a good time tonight, Yamcha."  
  
"Th-thanks." Willing himself to stop stuttering, Yamcha continued. "I had a good time, too. Much better than I was expecting when I came in here." Much better. The blush seemed to be fading, as well. "Um, I was wondering."  
  
He trailed off; Cesily glanced up at him expectantly. "Well?"  
  
"Would you, y'know, like to do this again.sometime.maybe?" His voice rose in hopeful inquiry as he gazed at her sidelong. Refusing him would have been like kicking a puppy. Besides, Cesily found that she really was enjoying herself. When Yamcha forgot his shyness, he was funny and entertaining, not to mention handsome and sexy.  
  
"Tomorrow night, you, me, a movie. Sound good?" Yamcha nodded with a shy smile, and Cesily grinned. She had quickly figured out that if this relationship was going to go anywhere, she was going to have to take the lead. "So, you want me to show you where my apartment is?"  
  
"Sure. I can pick you up tomorrow night at seven. Um, if you want."  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
As they walked towards the parking lot side by side, Yamcha cautiously reached for Cesily's hand. Encountering no resistance (on the contrary, her fingers laced securely through his), and feeling an odd warmth spring to life in his chest, the warrior heaved a sigh of content and continued forward, smiling. 


	2. Gonna Give You a Lesson in Leavin' Someb...

a/n: Wow, starting a new chapter when I just finished the first one! Kudos to me! Even though no one read the first chapter…*sniff*. Anyway, bonus points for people who can name the song this line came out of. Hint; it's country. Starting to guess the theme now? Ah, country and DBZ. What a delightful mix. In this chapter, Bulma gets dumped. Vegeta is amused. That's about all the B/V interaction you'll get for a while.  
  
Disclaimer: Akira Toriyama appeared to me in a dream and hit me for writing this without permission. That alone should give you the message.  
  
Chapter Two: Gonna Give You a Lesson in Leavin' Somebody  
  
Bulma reclined on a sofa in the main room of Capsule Corp. at seven o'clock the following evening, flipping channels on her big screen t.v. and wondering idly if she had put Yamcha through enough pain yet. She knew she really shouldn't do things like this to him, but it was so much fun! Besides, she always took him back. He knew that. Deciding that she was getting a little lonesome, and that Yamcha would probably be worried by now, she picked up the phone.  
  
One ring, two rings, and Yamcha answered.  
  
"Hello?" He sounded a little harassed, and a little impatient. Bulma grinned when she thought of how his tone would change when he heard who it was.  
  
"Hi, Yamcha. It's me."  
  
"Oh. Hello, Bulma." This was odd. He didn't sound happy to hear from her. Rather, he sounded…flat. Flat and uncaring. She pushed this abnormality aside and plunged on.  
  
"Listen, Yamcha, I'm sorry about the whole fight thing. I really don't know what came over me. Do you forgive me?" Her voice rose in mock- anxious interrogation.  
  
"Sure." He still sounded flat! What was going on? Oh well.  
  
"So, do you want to go out tonight? I know a really great new restaurant!"  
  
"No. I've got a date."  
  
Bulma blinked in shock. WHAT!? He had a date?! Yamcha the terminally shy had a date?! No way! Bulma recovered in the only way she could.  
  
"How about tomorrow?"  
  
"No, Bulma. Not tomorrow, not ever again. We're through. I'm sorry." Click. Dial tone.  
  
Bulma sat, silent and in shock, for a moment. She lowered the receiver and stared at it in disbelief. This wasn't happening. No way, no how. Yamcha couldn't dump her, it was against the rules! It wasn't fair! She was supposed to leave him, he wasn't supposed to leave her! How could this happen?  
  
A snort of amusement penetrated her inner disbelief, and she looked up to see Vegeta standing in the doorway wearing his usual spandex shorts and a towel around his shoulders. She glared at him.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"You, of course," he answered, unperturbed. "You look like someone hit you over the head with a brick." With this delightful insight, he left. Bulma glared after him for a moment. Jerk. However, her dislike for Vegeta could only distract her for a moment, and inevitably her mind turned back to Yamcha. How could he do this to her! It wasn't fair!  
  
But even as she thought it, she remembered guiltily all the times she had dumped him, all the times she had checked out other guys with him around, all the times she had jumped all over him for no reason at all…she deflated as if she had been hit. Maybe it was fair, after all. The only thing she had ever done for him was pay for a few things, and now that he was a famous baseball player, he didn't need her to do that anymore. So…her thoughts followed their logical, if unhappy, progression…she had been cruel to him. Therefore, he had found another girlfriend. At this point she abandoned logic and went back to vindictiveness. Well, she hoped this new girl would be even meaner! It would serve Yamcha right if his heart got broken, and then he would come straight back to her!  
  
Bulma entertained herself for a moment by imagining Yamcha begging her to take him back after the mystery girl had dumped him. She would stay aloof, but at last would graciously condescend to let him return. He would realize that she was the only one for him, and they would live happily ever after. The end.  
  
Yeah, right! The mental voice of cynicism wouldn't let her hold on to that happy picture for long. The world was never that neat. In all probability this girl would prove to be more loyal that Bulma had ever been (after all, who in their right minds would want to let a prize like Yamcha, famous baseball player and all-around hunk, get away?) and they would stay together forever, or at least way too long for Bulma's peace of mind. So, she could a) wait and see how things turned out, b) give up altogether, or c) try and break them up before they got too involved. Of course, they could never know that she had anything to do with it. Mentally, Bulma scratched out options a and b. Option c it was.  
  
* * *  
  
Yamcha and Cesily stood together on the doorstep of her small house, blushing slightly. The movie had gone great, they had both been pleasantly surprised by how much fun they'd had, but now was different. Now was the most awkward time of the evening; the goodbye. Yamcha gulped and smoothed his hair back, his nervousness (forgotten early on) rushing back in a flood.  
  
"Well, um, it's been really great. I had a lot of fun." He ducked his head, hoping his blush hadn't been noticed.  
  
"Yeah, me too. Hey, do you want to come in? You can meet Dougan."  
  
"Sure," Yamcha replied, raising his head quickly. "Who's Dougan?"  
  
"My dog, kind've. You'll see." Cesily got the key to turn in its stiff lock and pushed the door open. They were immediately greeted by a dog. Not just any dog, however. This was a giant among dogs, a huge, gray, purebred, wire-haired Irish Wolfhound whose head came up past Yamcha's waist.  
  
"Yo," he rumbled, his voice a deep basso growl. "Cesily, who's your friend?"  
  
"This is Yamcha. Yamcha, Dougan."  
  
If Cesily had been looking forward to Yamcha's shock, she was disappointed. After Pu'ar, this was nothing. After all, animals talked all the time in Yamcha's experience. What was so odd about that?  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Dougan," he said politely, bending to offer his palm, which was given a cursory sniff and then shaken.  
  
"I like this one," he announced after gracing Yamcha with a long, thoughtful gaze. "He has a nice smell. And steady eyes. The last one was shifty."  
  
"I know," Cesily sighed. "That's why I only went out with him once."  
  
Yamcha, smelling opportunity, jumped back into the conversation. "And are you going out with me more than once?" He marveled at his audacity as she turned back to him. Only a couple of nights ago, he would never even have considered using that line, even if he could have gotten it out without stuttering. It was a mark of how comfortable he felt with Cesily that he had used it now.  
  
She graced him with a smile. "What did you have in mind?"  
  
"Let's see…" Yamcha reviewed his schedule out loud for his girlfriend's benefit. "Baseball practice from eight 'til eleven tomorrow morning…how about lunch?"  
  
"Sure thing. My lunch break's at eleven thirty, so that's perfect timing for me. Pick me up?"  
  
"I would if I knew where you worked, Ces," Yamcha grinned.  
  
"Oh, duh!" Cesily smacked herself in the forehead. "I didn't tell you, did I? I work at the city building, office number 305, corner of S. 35th and Breckenridge."  
  
"Gotcha," Yamcha nodded in affirmation. "Office 305, corner of S. 35th and Breckenridge. I'll be there. Eleven thirty, right?"  
  
"Right. See ya, Yamcha!"  
  
"See ya, Ces." Yamcha slid out the door, closing it gently behind him.  
  
"He didn't kiss you," Dougan observed with some disappointment. "And he wanted to. I could smell it. Darn."  
  
"Oh, shut up," Cesily said, lazily tossing a pillow from the recliner at him. "Yamcha's shy. I'll probably have to kiss him if I want to get any kissing done."  
  
"Ooo, admitting you want to kiss him, huh?" Dougan asked, oozing up onto the couch, which he totally filled all by himself.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Dougan snorted, an uncannily humanlike noise, but was otherwise silent.  
  
* * *  
  
Outside Cesily's apartment, Yamcha slid into his car and mentally reviewed his other schedule. It was already nearly eleven, too late to train even enough to work up a good sweat and still be halfway awake for tomorrow's practice (even though he could have played the game while half asleep, he might do something stupid, like jump twenty feet into the air to catch a fly ball). He'd better just go home and get some sleep.  
  
At the door of his apartment, Yamcha fumbled for his keys, but the door opened before he could get them out of his pocket.  
  
"Hi, Yamcha!" Pu'ar greeted him. Even after all the years he'd known the feline shapeshifter, Yamcha still thought her voice sounded like a squeaky toy being squeezed. "How did your date go?"  
  
"Good." Yamcha flung himself down on the couch and grinned at Pu'ar, who floated down to settle on his chest. "In fact, great! Cesily's nice, she's smart, she's funny, and she's not nearly as full of herself as Bulma. We're having lunch tomorrow."  
  
"Excellent." Pu'ar nodded her approval. "You know you should have gotten rid of Bulma years ago. She's always making you unhappy. Cesily sounds much better."  
  
"Not so fast," Yamcha warned her, grinning. "She's got a dog, a big Irish Wolfhound."  
  
Pu'ar looked thoughtful. "Does he chase cats?"  
  
"I don't know, I didn't ask him."  
  
"Hmm. Well, if he doesn't chase cats, he's okay."  
  
Yamcha laughed, and they lay on the couch in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Yamcha gently shoved Pu'ar off his chest and went to bed. He had a full day planned tomorrow.  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, Vegeta trained. Yawn. Be content with this brief info, because it's probably the last you'll see of him for a few chapters. 


	3. Tonight the Heartache's on Me

a./n.- Have no fear, chapter three is here (at last)! Yamcha and Cesily have a few more dates, the pets meet and devise a sinister plan, and Bulma devises a sinister plan all by herself. Vegeta trains. Yawn. I'm sorry it's so short, but next chapter will be much better, promise!  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned DBZ, the world would be a very dangerous place.  
  
Chapter 3: Tonight the Heartache's on Me  
  
Bulma glanced up from her table as the door opened, and then quickly covered her face with a newspaper. She had been right! There he was, looking just as hot as ever, with a brown-haired girl beside him. Bulma gave her a critical looking-over from behind her paper. Hmm. Definitely not as pretty as her. Probably not as smart, either. After all, there were only a limited number of geniuses in the world. Yep, it would be as simple as pie. Not that pie was very easy, when you thought about it. At least, not as far as she was concerned. Bulma's one attempt at a pie had turned out about the color and hardness of a manhole cover. Cooking was one area in which the blue-haired girl's vast intellect was at an utter loss.  
  
Today, however, was not a day to think about pie in any way, shape, or form. Today was a day for plotting, for planning and observation. She wouldn't take any real action against them today, but she would follow them, observe them, and find any and all weaknesses in them and their relationship. With this knowledge, she could make a plan. As she watched the couple sit down, though, she had no idea that she wasn't the only one with a plan.  
  
* * *  
  
Someone with very good eyes, looking in just the right direction at just the right time that night, might have noticed a shadow crouched among shadows on a rooftop. An owl might have seen the shadow crouch, its hind legs tensing in preparation for a spring, and then shoot with perfect grace and well-calculated trajectory from one rooftop to the other. A bat, with the keenest ears in the night, might have heard a faint scratching as the shadow slipped a fraction before its claws caught. The shadow continued up the roof, and halted as it came to the small attic window. It raised a forelimb, paused, and knocked. This action was repeated, until at last a faint motion could be observed from inside the attic. The shadow moved back as the window was flung open by a huge, hairy paw.  
  
"Who's there?" the owner of the paw growled.  
  
"I'm Pu'ar," the shadow squeaked. It moved forward into the light cast by the single attic lightbulb, revealing itself to be a moderately sized cat, blue with a tan belly. "I live with Yamcha. Are you Dougan?"  
  
"Yes," the dog answered, a little less gruffly. "What are you doing here so late at night?"  
  
"I have something I want to talk to you about," Pu'ar replied. "But first.do you have anything against cats?"  
  
"Not as such," Dougan replied. "It's annoying when they run crying at the sight of me, though."  
  
"No fear of that," Pu'ar grinned. "Anyway, what do you think of the Yamcha and Cesily thing?"  
  
"It's good for both of them," Dougan nodded sharply. "I like Yamcha. He has a good scent."  
  
"Glad you think so. And Cesily's good too, but there's one problem."  
  
"What problem?" Dougan asked warily.  
  
"Not anything to do with Cesily," Pu'ar said hastily. "It's just.do you know anything about Yamcha's old girlfriend?"  
  
"Wasn't she Bulma Briefs? The daughter of the richest person in the world?"  
  
"That's her," Pu'ar nodded grimly. "She's rich, a genius, and above all she's used to getting what she wants. And trust me, what she wants now more that just about anything is Yamcha."  
  
"Why? I mean, they're through, right?" Dougan was uncomprehending.  
  
"Wrong," Pu'ar's grave expression contrasted hilariously with her high, squeaky voice, but neither animal cared. "Bulma hates losing, and she sees this whole thing as a loss. She lost Yamcha to Cesily, and she'll want him back. She'll make a plan. And so, unless we want her to win."  
  
"We need a plan of our own." Dougan nodded sharply. "Right. What do you suggest?"  
  
Pu'ar grinned evilly. "Well, we can start by."  
  
* * *  
  
Bulma's tired vision blurred, and she set down her latest invention to rub her eyes. She had always found that working helped her think, and she was in the final stages with this particular machine and had almost finished devising her plan. Normally she would be jumping about in excitement at the idea of finishing, but tonight she just couldn't summon up the enthusiasm. A leaden weight had settled in her stomach from the moment she left the restaurant to the sounds of Yamcha and Cesily's happy chatter. It was as if before then, the breakup hadn't seemed quite real, and she realized that she had still been assuming that after a given amount of time, Yamcha would come crawling back. In the diner, she had had it brought home to her that this time, if she wanted Yamcha back, she was going to have to do something to bring him back. She realized she was sniffling, and set her work down on the desk.  
  
"Yamcha." she whispered, her vision blurring even more as tears filled her eyes. She really did care about him, even though she knew she acted like a jerk at times. Her head sank into her hands as she recalled every feature.the way his face lit up when he smiled, the cute way his scar moved when he raised that eyebrow, his smell, his feel hand in hand with her.all gone. Bulma couldn't hold it back any longer. She closed her eyes, buried her face in her arms, and cried her heart out.  
  
Outside the door, Vegeta paused briefly, then walked on, shaking his head at the foolish emotions of humans.  
  
* * *  
  
In a field, a few miles out of the city, Yamcha was training. Yes, training, dear reader, honest-to-goodness, sweat-pouring-from-every-pore training. And you thought he was too wrapped up in romantic affairs to remember the androids! However, it must be admitted that, while he was indeed training, he was at the same time thinking. And the object of his thoughts was, indeed, a woman. Cesily, in fact.  
  
She was wonderful (punch, kick), she was nice, she was funny (dodge, flip, jump), she was everything he'd ever wanted in a girl (block, blast, punch again), and she wasn't nearly as jealous and suspicious as Bulma (kick, block, dodge, BLAST)!  
  
Panting, Yamcha threw himself down on the cool grass and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at the stars. He smiled and let his thoughts wander into the infinite blackness between the twinkling lights, just as he had when he was a little boy, before.the fighter shook that train of thoughts off its rails and leapt up. Time to go back to work. 


	4. There's Your Trouble

A/N: You requested it (twice) (which is kind've a first for me, and..*ahem* anyway), so here it is! Chapter Four! Thank you, nice reviewing-type people! You're so sweeeeet! ^_^ It's longer than the last one, and we're moving into B/V territory at last.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, which is a good thing, because if I did it probably would have died after the first volume because of my laziness and lack of updating. Gomen, gomen!  
  
Chapter 4: There's Your Trouble  
  
"Bad dog, this is Panther. The jet has landed. I repeat, the jet has landed." 'Panther' re-adjusted her headset to keep it from slipping down her face (it hadn't exactly been designed with a cat's ears in mind) and waited for a reply as Yamcha and Cesily vanished inside the restaurant.  
  
"Roger that, Panther. I'm in position. Any sign of the Harpy?"  
  
"Not yet, Bad Dog. Keep sharp. Panther out." Pu'ar flicked off the outgoing channel and settled down to wait, wondering if Dugan felt just a bit silly wearing a headset and using code names. It made her feel cool, like a spy or a secret agent. The cat stifled a giggle at the thought of Dougan in a tuxedo like James Bond, then jerked upright as the Irish Wolfhound's bass voice crackled in her ears.  
  
"Panther! B.I mean, the Harpy is coming your way. See her?"  
  
"Roger, Bad Dog. I see her. Plan A in progress." Pu'ar switched off her headset, slid it over her ears, and set it down gently. She took a deep breath, pictured what she wanted to become, and whisper-squeaked, "Change."  
  
There was a puff of smoke, and a soft "poof" as the air around her was forced outward. Pu'ar waved the smoke away and looked over her new form. She really didn't like transforming into the opposite gender, but in a good cause. She/he cleared her throat to make sure that her vocal cords had changed along with the rest of her. It would be embarrassing, to say the least, to march up to her prey (a.k.a. Bulma) and speak up in her normal squeaky-toy tones, especially in her current shape. Pu'ar scooped up the headset, tucked it into her pocket, grinned evilly, and closed in on the hapless figure of her victim.  
  
* * *  
  
Bulma paused in front of the double doors of the restaurant which had just swallowed her former boyfriend and his current date with teeth of wood and glass. At that moment, staring anxiously through the frosted windows of the oak-paneled door, she thought that that building was absolutely the most intimidating thing she had ever seen, scarier than Vegeta in a rage, scarier than Zarbon or even Freeza. Step through them, and she would take the first strides down an unstoppable road towards either regaining her erstwhile boyfriend or losing him forever. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forwards.  
  
And bumped headfirst into one of the handsomest men she had ever set eyes on. He was taller than Bulma, but so much that he loomed over her like a skyscraper. His chin was at exactly the right level for the top of her head to fit snugly beneath it for cuddling. His hair was the almost-black brown of a bar of finest dark chocolate, and his eyes were the blue of a deep, cool, pure mountain lake. His lips were full and sensual (but definitely masculine), his skin was perfectly tan and unblemished, and his nose beautifully sculpted. Bulma nearly collapsed into his arms on the spot as their eyes met, but restrained herself with an effort. 'Yamcha,' she told herself, 'Think of Yamcha.'  
  
And then he spoke, in a voice that was rich, and deep, and sent a shiver down Bulma's spine- so much so, in fact, that she didn't hear a word of what he actually said. Realizing after a moment that he had, in fact, spoken to her, she blinked and tried to get her vocal cords working.  
  
"Wha? Huh?" 'Oh, very clever, Bulma,' she berated herself mentally.  
  
"I'm sorry for bumping into you," he repeated in those rich, warm, knee-melting tones. "What's your name?"  
  
"B-bulma," she stammered, still overcome. 'Mission,' she thought, rather dazedly. 'I'm on a mission.or is he my mission? No, that can't be right.'  
  
"I'm Pu.er. Puer," the man repeated, a little nervously.  
  
'What?' Bulma thought. 'I'm making him nervous? I must be even sexier than I gave myself credit for!' This thought restoring her self-confidence and her loquaciousness to their usual titanic levels, she smiled becomingly at him.  
  
"Don't be sorry. It was all my fault, really." 'Wait, mission. Mission? Mission. Yamcha! He's getting away! With that girl! I have to stop him!'  
  
Her smile didn't waver an iota as she continued smoothly. "It was nice meeting you, Puer, even with the bumping, but I really have to be going now. Pardon me."  
  
* * *  
  
"Why the rush?" Pu'ar made her altered voice calm, but inwardly she was panicking. She had been so sure it would work! The shapeshifter caught sight of Dougan around the corner and calmed herself with a deep breath. They did, after all, have a backup plan.  
  
"I'm looking for someone," Bulma explained smoothly. "He just went into this restaurant, and I'll miss him if I don't hurry. Now, please excuse me."  
  
"Of course." Pu'ar stepped aside graciously, and signaled to Dougan as Bulma started forwards. He dashed out of hiding like a giant gray arrow from a siege bow, intimidating as only a very large dog can be when he's rushing toward you at full speed, growling and snarling like a wild thing. Bulma took a breath to scream, but Pu'ar tackled her before she made a sound. The air was lost in a gasp as they hit the dirt, Pu'ar 'shielding' her from the attacking dog, coincidentally, smearing soil and gravel into her dress. The shapeshifter sprang to her (well, technically his, at the moment) feet and confronted Dougan, who was playing the furious, frenzied dog with a skill that could have won Oscars for best performance. He rushed suddenly, straight at Bulma, whose eyes widened as she gasped for air. Pu'ar mock-lunged at her canine accomplice, who dodged her with ease and flung himself at Bulma, thoroughly ripping her skirt as she stood too shocked to scream before running onward and disappearing around a corner. Pu'ar smirked before turning around to face Bulma and putting on a concerned expression. Plan B had gone off perfectly.  
  
* * *  
  
Tears welled up in Bulma's eyes as she sat in the grass outside the restaurant and stared numbly at the rent in her dress. 'This was Yamcha' favorite,' she thought. 'I wore it for him.' She started to sob in earnest. 'Now I'll never get him back! Never!'  
  
"Are you okay? I'm so sorry." She glanced up at Puer's concerned face and sniffed, trying to pull herself together at least a little.  
  
"J-just go now, p-please."  
  
"Do you want me to walk you home, or anything?" He sounded truly worried, and Bulma managed to get herself under control. Barely.  
  
"N-no. I'll be all right. I just need to be alone."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes." Bulma picked herself up, brushed some of the gravel off of her clothes, sniffled, and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.  
  
* * *  
  
"Pu'ar?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I think we just did a bad thing."  
  
"Dougan?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I think you're right."  
  
* * *  
  
Vegeta sensed the woman in the house the second she stepped through the door. He heard her pause in the entrance of the kitchen, the room in which he was currently ensconced, heave a heartfelt sigh, and mutter, "This is not my day." He did not turn around. He did, however, take the opportunity to evaluate her mental state by her scent, as only a Saiya-jin could. Hmph. Depressed and almost crying, with overtones that suggested she had fallen in some dirt recently. Not a good time to taunt her, then. Although her body was pathetically weak, he did get some enjoyment out of their verbal battles, not that he would ever have admitted it. He heard her sniffle, and could almost feel her collect herself before she started across the room.  
  
"Vegeta," she acknowledged him coldly as she passed.  
  
"Woman," he replied, just as cool.  
  
She stalked past him, head up, eyes forward.at least, until she tripped and fell heavily on the edge of the carpet.  
  
* * *  
  
Bulma felt tears sting her eyes as the carpet stung her knees, and blinked fiercely. 'I will not cry in front of Vegeta, I will not cry in front of Vegeta.oh, what the hell. It's not like he'll care, anyway.' The sobs she had been restraining so determinedly broke free at last, shaking her body in their iron fist. Over their fury, she heard Vegeta stand up, his chair squeaking on the floor, and felt him come towards her on cat-quiet feet. He stood behind her for a moment, almost uncertainly, before snorting in exasperation and speaking.  
  
"If you must cry, woman, can you at least do it somewhere else?"  
  
"S-sorry," she got out between sobs, and started gulping her tears back down to that place in her chest where they were normally contained. Suddenly, she found herself hauled upright a trifle roughly, at blinked at Vegeta's sharp-planed face through a haze of saltwater.  
  
"Did that weakling take off again? Good riddance."  
  
"Go away, Vegeta. I'm not really in the mood right now." Bulma noted with a certain amount of pride that she had managed to get those words out without stammering or breaking down again.  
  
Vegeta, meanwhile, had no idea what he thought he was doing. Some odd, forgotten instinct had propelled him out of his chair and over to the weeping woman, accompanied by the urge to make her stop crying. He didn't like it. So he slipped into his typical reaction to a confusing or uncomfortable situation; he got angry.  
  
"Why should I go away? You're the one who barged in and started crying!"  
  
Bulma's temper flared in response, and she snapped a reply. "It's my kitchen in my house, that's why! I'm letting you stay here, monkey-boy, and the least you can do is do what I ask for a change!"  
  
"I am the prince of all Saiya-jins, woman, and if you think."  
  
"Oh, please! Not that again!" She poked him in the chest, eyes narrowed. "You may be the prince of all Saiya-freaks, but you're not the prince of me! So take a hike!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Why?!"  
  
Why? Good question. Why didn't he just leave this house, with its annoying occupants, catch his own meals and live by himself between bouts with the gravity machine? Not sure of the real answer, he hesitated a fraction of a second before shouting a hasty answer.  
  
"I'm not taking orders from any weak Earth woman!"  
  
"Fine, then!" If Bulma had noticed the tiny pause, she wasn't letting on. "See if this weak Earth woman ever fixes any of your stupid training machines again!" With this parting shot (not the best in her repertoire, but it would do), she whirled and stalked away, her tears forgotten in typical Vegeta-inspired anger. 'Stupid Saiya-jin.'  
  
'At least you're not crying anymore.'  
  
'Shut up.'  
  
Vegeta, left alone in the kitchen, snorted. "Hmph. Stupid woman."  
  
'At least she stopped crying,' a little voice in his head niggled.  
  
"Shut up." 


	5. Go On

a/n: Wow, another chapter. Bet ya'll thought that wasn't gonna happen. I actually wrote all this in about a month and a half, but I'm a terrible procrastinator. Eheh. Soooo, anyway, stuff in this chapter. . . Two original characters are introduced, as well as one not-really-original one I snuck in from a different anime. Bonus points for guessing which one! Other than that, no action in this chapter, much. Just a lot of teasing and moving things along a little.  
  
Disclaimer: Yes, I totally own Dragonball Z.  
  
. . .That was my sarcasm voice, by the way.  
  
Chapter Five: Go on  
  
Cesily drifted through the door of the third floor office she shared with her two co-workers and best friends, a dreamy smile on her face. Blue- haired Yukina appeared to be involved in her work, although it was just past eight o'clock, but Fujikora (known as Fuji, for everyday purposes) didn't bother to pretend disinterest in Cesily's mood. As her friend moved airily toward her desk in between the other two and settled into her chair, Fuji leaned back to watch her.  
  
"Ooo," Cesily's black-haired friend commented. "What's up with you? Did you get laid or something?"  
  
Fuji's blunt statement brought her friend down to earth with a thump, and she blushed redder than the strawberry plushie Yukina kept on top of her computer. Fuji watched in amusement.  
  
"You're going to self-combust in a second, I swear. Jeez, Ces, it was just an innocent question!"  
  
"Innocent??" Cesily spluttered. "You ask me if I got laid and you call that an innocent question?"  
  
Fuji nodded vigorously. "Hai. A not-innocent question would be asking for details of how you got laid."  
  
Cesily groaned, burying her face in her hands as it began to cool off. "Why? Why do I put up with this abuse? Why?"  
  
Yukina, who had abandoned her pretense of work and was listening with interest from the desk to the right of Cesily's, thought this sounded like a nice opening. "Because you loooove us, Cesi-san!"  
  
Fuji nodded sharply in agreement from Cesily's left. "Of course you do. Either that or you stick around to read second-rate sci-fi books day in and day out. So, did you get laid or what?"  
  
Cesily sighed. "No, I did not, as you so crudely put it, 'get laid'."  
  
"Well, then, did you get a date?" Yukina asked, leaping for the next best, and less dirty-minded, conclusion.  
  
Cesily tried to keep a poker face, but the upturned corners of her mouth betrayed her. "Oh, you so did," Fuji grinned triumphantly. "Well? With who? Is he cute? Give us all the juicy details."  
  
"It was actually my second date with him, thank you very much," Cesily replied, giving in at last to peer pressure and preparing to gossip. "Yes, he's cute, very cute in fact. And both of you know who he is."  
  
"We do?" Fuji blinked. "Hmmm. . .well, I don't think Yuki, you, and I have that many guy friends in common. . .none that you'd date, I know that. . ."  
"Ooo," the younger, more romantic Yukina broke in, "Maybe it's someone famous! Is it, Cesi-san?"  
  
"C'mon," Fuji scoffed. "She wouldn't. . ." the oldest of the three trailed off as she saw Cesily's expression. "It is? You're going out with someone famous? Honestly?"  
  
Cesily smirked a bit. "Not *that* famous. . ."  
  
"Girl, how do you get so lucky all the time!" Fujika groaned. "I swear. . ." Then she grinned. "So, who is this not-that-famous famous guy you're dating that both of us know?"  
  
"He's on the city baseball team," Cesily revealed, drawing out their suspense as long as she could.  
  
"The Reapers?" Fuji scoffed. "They don't have more than two guys worth dating on the whole team! Well, there is that one. . .but he's dating Bulma Briefs, so. . ." Her eyes widened as she saw Cesily's expression. "You're going out with YAMCHA YOSHIMURA??"  
  
Despite her attempt at a poker face, the corners of Cesily's mouth curved up in a smug grin. Oh yeah, she was good and she knew it.  
  
Yukina sighed, almost theatrically. "He's sooo handsome. Cesi-san, you're soooo lucky!"  
  
"So tell us about him!" Fuji pressed. "Personality-wise, I mean. We all know about his godlike good looks." She rolled her eyes at Yukina, who was sitting starry-eyed with her hands clasped in front of her chest.  
  
"He's actually not what you'd expect," Cesily revealed, looking thoughtful. "I mean, he's an incredibly famous player, probably the only reason the Reapers won any games at all last season, but he's not stuck up or cocky or anything. He's really shy, actually."  
  
"How so?" Fuji was content. Cesily was in full flow now; all she had to do was make appropriate noises and prod her every now and then.  
  
"Well, when he realized he was actually talking to a girl, I thought he was going to freeze up right there. I mean, he went completely red. I still don't know how he managed to ask me out without passing out from all that blood rushing to his face! Honestly, he acts like someone who's used to being beaten at everything, not like someone who's the best in the province at what he does."  
  
"Huh." This time, Yukina pitched in with her own encouraging sound, eager to hear more.  
  
"Right, you know? Anyway, he's really sweet. I don't think he'd get all fresh with a girl or anything like that even when he gets over being shy. I really like him, he's not conceited at all, more like unsure of himself, like he's not confident about much." Cesily trailed off, absorbed in her thoughts, much to the disappointment of her two friends, who had been happily engaged in hanging on her every word.  
  
"So, I guess we should start proofreading this, huh? Whose lovely work do we have today?" Fujikora sighed as Cesily shook off her contemplation and got into 'working' mode. Nothing would dissuade her now; they might as well go ahead and get busy.  
  
"Erm, some guy called Terry something, I think," Yukina volunteered, and the three of them plunged into the grammatical nitpicking that was their daily way of life.  
  
* * *  
  
Unaware of Cesily's musings several blocks away, Yamcha waited patiently for his turn at bat. Daily practice might be boring as heck (for the semi-superheroes among the players, at least), but it was necessary and everyone was required to attend. The monotony of the hours in the sun was broken only occasionally, when he needed to actually focus on something, such as making a difficult catch, or when he was accosted by Jin.  
  
Most people on the team wouldn't have even thought the words 'accosted' and 'Jin' in the same sentence. As far as they were concerned, Jin was a quiet, sedate kid who did his job and kept his head down, a little too far down even. But, for reasons known only to Jin and whatever Kaious decided to take an interest, the shy younger player had opened up to Yamcha. And when Jin opened up, he threw back the huge double doors, rolled out the red carpet, and partied 'til four in the morning. Possibly there were even drinks with slices of pineapple and fiddly little umbrellas involved.  
  
At the moment, Jin was engaged in pestering Yamcha with care and devoted skill. "Soooo, whatcha been up to? Huh? Huh? Met any girls? Huh? I mean, not that you'd have anything to say to them, or anything, being the silent studmuffin that you are. . .*cough*not*cough*"  
  
Yamcha couldn't help it; he blushed. Jin's eyes widened, and he pounced like an overenthusiastic kitten on a tricky ball of yarn.  
  
"You did! Youdidyoudid! Soooo, is she nice? Pretty? C'mon, details, man!"  
  
Yamcha attempted to pull himself together and shot Jin a level look. "Even if I did meet someone. . ." here he raised his voice to override Jin's affirmations that someone had definitely been met, ". . .what makes you think I would give you any details?"  
  
"Cuz we're friends, Yami!" Jin turned up the big, puppy-dog eyes and injured air to the max and focused it on his teammate. Yamcha sighed, knowing that Jin would keep pestering him until something, at least, was revealed, and spilled. At least, a little bit.  
  
"Yes, I met someone, okay?" he answered, cursing his infernal girl- shyness inwardly as he began to blush.  
  
Jin leered at him. "HA! I knew it. So, who's the *lucky* girl?" Playful sarcasm dripped like honey off the "*lucky*" but Yamcha ignored it. In fact, he had gone back to ignoring Jin entirely in the hope that the younger player would just give up and leave him alone. He should have known better. Jin began to mock-pout.  
  
"Come ON, Yami! Tell me, tell me!"  
  
Yamcha gave a sigh that was more than half a growl of frustration, and rolled his eyes. "If I tell you, will you stop calling me Yami? You know I hate that."  
  
"Okay. Give me all the juuuuicy details, and I'll stop calling you Yami for. . .two days." Jin gave him the pleading puppy eyes again. His teammate surrendered.  
  
"Deal, I guess. Her name's Cesily, she's very pretty and nice, and I met her a few nights ago at a bar."  
  
"Oooo, you met in a *bar*, huh?" Jin packed more innuendo into that sentence than Yamcha had thought humanly possible before actually hearing it. Thankfully, Yamcha's turn at bat had finally come, and he stepped up to the plate with an intense feeling of relief, his cheeks still red.  
  
Jin sobered up briefly, at least through both their turns at bat, but practically skipped back to Yamcha's side when he was finished. "Well? That wasn't very much detail, *Yami*."  
  
Yamcha growled again. "What do you want to know exactly?"  
  
"Well, lessee," Jin marked off points on his fingers as he considered. "How many dates you've had, have you kissed, have you gotten laid, are you likely to get laid anytime in the near future, do you think she's thought about getting laid with you. . ."  
  
Yamcha cut him off. "ENOUGH, already! Is that all you ever think about? Talk about having your mind in the gutter."  
  
Jin leered up at Yamcha, who was the taller of the two by several inches. "My mind's not just in the gutter, it's in the SEWER. So, spill!"  
  
Despite Yamcha's best efforts at ignoring his friend, he was blushing redder than a beet and feeling considerably flustered by the time his next turn at bat rolled around. Perhaps that was why, when he saw the ball coming towards him, he let himself react just a little too much. The next thing anyone knew, the ball was nowhere to be seen and the bat was an exploding cloud of splinters. Yamcha gulped and looked guiltily up at his teammates, who were all gaping at him, astonished. The only exception seemed to be Jin, who smirked widely and gave him a thumbs-up. Yamcha made a mental note to pound the younger player after practice. In the meantime, he put his hand behind his head and laughed sheepishly.  
  
"Eheh. . .jee, guess the bat was faulty or something, huh?"  
  
A few people still looked unconvinced, but most of the team and the coach seemed to accept that explanation. Yamcha grabbed a fresh bat and took his place in the line just as Jin finished his turn and trotted back.  
  
"You seriously have to teach me how to do that, Yami. It's completely awesome."  
  
Yamcha, spotting his opportunity, grinned. "Stop teasing me for the rest of practice, and I'll train you. A bit."  
  
Jin's eyes went wide and starry. "Really? Awesome! Thanks, man!"  
  
"Eh, no problem. As long as you stop teasing me!" Jin nodded vigorously, and Yamcha relaxed. However, the incident turned his train of thought down another track. What was he going to tell Cesily about his powers? Jin had found out by a complete accident a few months ago, and had taken it surprisingly well, in Yamcha's opinion. He suspected that Jin had spazzed more than a little in private, or at least internally, but when Yamcha had originally broken the news, his friend's reaction had been something along the lines of, "So, you have superpowers. Cool. Are you gonna eat that?" Part of the reason for this cool acceptance had probably been disbelief, and the rest was just Jin. He loved to pretend that he knew everything there was to know, and hated being seen at a disadvantage, even in front of Yamcha, his closest friend.  
  
But Cesily was another story. Yamcha really didn't know enough about her yet to form any accurate conclusions about how she would react to his powers. He hoped and believed that she would think it was cool, or at least accept that it was real, but she could also easily denounce him as some kind of freak, or take it all to be some kind of trick or a stupid joke. He sighed and shook his head as the team spread out over the infield to continue practice. What *was* he going to tell Cesily? And when? To be frank, he had absolutely no idea.  
  
* * *  
  
"I have absolutely no idea."  
  
Puar gave Dougan a skeptical look, but the Irish Wolfhound only frowned. "Seriously, I don't know how she'd react. I mean, flying through the air, zapping stuff with energy bolts. . .it sounds like a bad sci-fi novel. It all depends on if she believes it or not."  
  
"She'll have to, after a point," Puar stated. "I mean, we know humans can be pretty stupid and stubborn at times, but there's only so much they can deny before they have to accept that something's going on."  
  
"So say she accepts it," Dougan postulated, and Puar nodded encouragingly. "I think. . .she'd probably think it was cool. She likes stuff like that, I can barely pry her away from her science fiction stuff some days. Remember, that's IF she believes it. At the moment, I'm not even sure if *I* believe it."  
  
Puar looked thoughtful, then grinned evilly. "I think I know just the thing to fix that. . ."  
  
* * *  
  
*BOOOOM!*  
  
Although the training droid had been relatively small, it still made quite an impressive explosion in the enclosed space of Vegeta's gravity training room. Luckily, he was far to focused to look up at the small round window, which framed two furry faces peering in at him as he dodged a blast from an as-yet-undestroyed robot and shot a bolt of ki at another.  
  
Puar sat back from the thick glass, looking smug. "Well? Convinced yet?"  
  
Dougan's eyes were almost wide enough to be the metaphorical saucer- sized as he dropped back onto all fours. "He. . .just. . .I didn't imagine that, did I?"  
  
Puar shook her head wordlessly, grinning at his discomfiture.  
  
"Well." Dougan cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "And Yamcha can do that? Yeesh. I'm glad he's on our side."  
  
"So, now that you're a believer, what do you think about Cesily's reaction to all this?"  
  
"I. . ." Dougan sighed and shook his head. "I still don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait and find out."  
  
* * *  
  
"So, where are we going for lunch?"  
  
Yamcha shook his head. "Sorry, Jin, we're not today. I promised I'd meet Cesily at Kaze no Kizu."  
  
"Ooooo," Jin teased. "So this'll be what, your THIRD date?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"Jin, do you want training, or not?" Yamcha hissed, blushing for the millionth time today. "Zip it, or you'll never get any."  
  
Jin clutched at his chest and staggered around theatrically. "Oh, woe! To never GET ANY. . .How could I exist??"  
  
Yamcha dragged his hand over his face and sighed a long-suffering sigh. "I didn't mean it that way, you pervert."  
  
Jin grinned unrepentantly up at him. "I know you didn't, but I took it that way because I could, bro. So, training?"  
  
Yamcha rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. Tomorrow, meet me here."  
  
Jin looked skeptical. "You're going to train me here?"  
  
"No, you doofus, we're going to MEET here, then go somewhere else. Just be there."  
  
Jin snapped up to attention and threw off a mock-salute. "Yessir, Mr. Yamcha sir!" Yamcha sighed, Jin gave him one last grin, and then moved off to retrieve his bag from the dugout. The scarred player watched him go, marvelling at the way he seemed to shrink into a completely different person around the other members of the team. There were still hints of the bright, loud, bouncy kid in his quiet grin, but for the most part he melted into unobtrusive silence, listening rather than blaring out the way he did around Yamcha. For all that, what he listened to was obviously taken in, interpreted (probably in an extremely dirty way, if Yamcha knew anything about it), and found to be amusing. Jin was a puzzle, all right, but one Yamcha had all the pieces to and knew how to put together. Jin wasn't the problem. Right now, he was far more worried about Cesily. . .  
  
* * *  
  
Fuji glanced at the clock on the wall above her computer, and pushed back from her desk abrubtly. "Lunch. Now. Where?"  
  
Yukina giggled, as she always did, and Cesily rolled her eyes with a grin, as she always did. Fuji had been announcing their lunch break in the same way, at more or less the same time, for as long as they had been working together. Today, however, was slightly different.  
  
"Sorry, guys," Cesily apologized, locking her computer and standing up. "I've got other plans today. Go without me, OK?"  
  
Fuji's expression instantly became a deeply suggestive leer. "Plans, eh? Might these plans involve the handsome and scarred Yamcha?"  
  
Cesily's cheeks turned pink, and she fixed a long-suffering glare on Fuji. "They might, all right? I'll tell you about it after lunch."  
  
"Really?" Yukina asked hopefully as Cesily walked to the door of their office. She paused in the doorway, smirked, and looked back over her shoulder.  
  
"Maybe," she finished, and escaped. 


End file.
